


young volcanoes

by gossamernotes



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Nerd!Bucky, Punk!Steve, homophobic slur used briefly, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamernotes/pseuds/gossamernotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At eighteen, James Barnes has mastered more languages than he can count on two hands. But when his homeroom teacher asks him to tutor Steve Rogers, it's like he forgets how to speak at all. </p><p>[The AU story wherein Bucky has a talented tongue and is praying to get into NYU when he's asked to tutor Steve, and the boys experience life as their relationship goes from professional to personal over the course of one year.]</p><p>Nerd!Bucky/Punk!Steve</p>
            </blockquote>





	young volcanoes

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. So, I have never written AU before.
> 
> I have also never actually written Stucky wherein there is kissing and touching involved.
> 
> So, **please** let me know if you liked this is the comments below. Because I am hella nervous.
> 
> Enjoy!

James likes to say that he has a talent tongue. 

His mother had told him so once -- which made him choke because she _should not_ be saying that to her son -- but he got her point. 

At thirteen, he’d been tested at some fancy study center a taxi ride over in Manhattan before being told he was a polyglot, but he only really thought it was cool then because it made his mom proud of him.

Languages had always come easy to him. He’d learnt to speak in Russian fluently about the same time he mastered his English -- and he gives credit for this feat to Saturday morning cartoons and listening to his mother’s phone calls when she talks to his babushka back in St. Petersburg. 

French came shortly after followed by German, Japanese, Chinese -- which he really hates writing in but loves to whip out when ordering take-out from Mr. Wong down the block -- and a handful of others. There are some languages which he knows well enough get by with but doesn’t consider himself fluent in because he is only ever fluent in a language when he feels confident that he could curse out a native speaker and not embarrass himself. 

At eighteen, James Barnes has mastered nearly eight different languages and cherishes his shining 4.0 GPA.

But, standing in the hallway with Ms. Potts after she grabbed him from his study hall, James’ talented tongue betrays him. 

“Asdlkjfas”

Ms. Potts raises an eyebrow. “Come again?”

And James has the decency to at least look embarrassed by the absolute gibberish -- not Yiddish because James knows enough of that language to not make an _ass_ out him in front of his homeroom teacher -- that left his mouth and searches for actual words in his head. 

“Sorry, but you want me to what?”

Readjusting her grip on the folder outstretched in her hand, Ms. Potts shakes her head. “I have been approached by a concerned parent regarding their child’s grade in my class, and they want me to assign their son a tutor to make sure he graduates without any holds because he’s struggling with Latin.”

James nods his head and reaches for the folder that Ms. Potts has been holding out to him before thumbing through the pages, noting the lesson she’s drawn up for his tutoring schedule. 

Because James isn’t stupid but is more than a little proud -- and Ms. Potts _knows_ that. He can never find himself saying no to her even when he’s eyeball-deep in college applications and scholarship essays and planning for the next Science Olympiad meeting because he’s captain this year and there are just never enough hours in the day. 

Snapping the folder shut between his fingers, James tells Ms. Potts that he will tutor her student, and the smile that breaks across her face makes him feel like he’s done his good deed for today. 

She tells him to meet in her classroom from now on during his study hall as it will be empty and free for him to tutor in. He won’t be getting paid for this job -- well, in cash, that is -- but Ms. Potts has always been generous towards her favorite students so James knows that his life in Latin might just have gotten a little easier with this gig. 

Ms. Potts is turning away, heels clicking against the dull ceramic floor tiles, until he realizes that he’s missing a major piece of information. 

“Ms. Potts!”

James waits until she stops and turns to look over her shoulder before finishing.

“What’s this kid’s name?”

She smiles. 

“Steve Rogers.”

_______

Steve is late for his first tutoring session the next day, and James won’t lie: he’s pissed. He’s got enough homework piled on him that would make a lesser student cry, but James has a lot riding on his grades, so he’ll stay up all night nursing coffee and listening to Swedish rap just to finish all of his assignments. 

Assignments, he thinks, that he could be working on now but can’t because he is still waiting for Steve to walk through the door. 

However, it is just after that thought finishes that the door finally swings open, and James blinks because he knows this kid. 

Their high school is huge because some rich philanthropist named Tony Stark donated a shit-ton of money to the school for no other reason than to get some good publicity, so a lot of kids are able to attend this place.

But he has seen Steve before because he hangs around the school’s best running back, Sam, and has seen the two of them smoking outside of school before. Seeing Steve up close now, all ninety-five pounds of him, James wonders how the kid hasn’t coughed a lung out with his smoking because there is no way Steve should be alive after having smoked on so many cigarettes. 

“God, sorry I’m late. I was across campus working on a project for art when I noticed the time. I swear, it won’t happen again.”

Steve’s voice is deeper than James expects it to be -- and he does look genuinely sorry for making James wait -- so he nods his head and points to the desk beside him. 

“Not a problem, Steve. S’nice to meet you. My name’s James,” he introduces himself, and Steve’s lips curl into a smile that frames his pointed jawline. 

Steve sticks out his hand, and James shakes it. 

“I go by Steve, but I’m guessing you already knew that,” Steve answers as he sits down beside James, slinging his bookbag to the floor before pulling out a familiar Latin textbook that frustrates James -- even with his way with words -- because it is such a _godawful_ textbook. It’s a wonder that anyone has ever learned anything from the damned thing.

James pulls his own notebook out, along with the folder that Ms. Potts gave him to use, and pulls his lips into a smile he normally reserves for the prettiest girls at school -- who, as usual, never notice -- but Steve’s eyes are blue enough to catch James’ attention.

“You ready to get started?”

Steve nods and brushes away the blonde fringe sweeping over his forehead. 

“Whenever you are.”

_______

Steve, James learns over the next few weeks, has a wicked sense of humor that lights up when their together. 

And he also learns that Steve is damn smart and can’t for the life of him figure out why he is even failing Latin to start. 

When he finally asks Steve, James immediately wishes he could take the question back because Steve’s face falls.

“Hey, just forget it, alright? Let’s just get back-”

“I get sick a lot.”

James quiets and looks at Steve. It’s not a stretch and honestly about what James had expected Steve to say. Even though he’s been working with Steve for about a month now, covering conjugations and roots and syntax, there have been plenty of days when Steve doesn’t show up because he’s been too sick to even come to school. 

“...hard, you know? I’ve always been small and sick for as long as I’ve been alive, so it’s hard to keep with things like school and all.” 

James laughs, startling Steve from his story.

“You’re telling me that you’ve got asthma and you _still_ think its a good idea to chain smoke outside by the bus stop? Ever heard of tempting fate, Steve,” James asks and forces himself to stop laughing because he doesn’t want Steve to think he’s being a jerk or making fun of him. But Steve just laughs as well, head tilted back to expose the smooth lines of his neck.

“Never said it was a good idea. Besides, I do what I want,” Steve answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

James breathes through his nose, knocking his shoulder into Steve’s while closing his notebook because the bell is about to ring at any moment and he’s got to pick up his sister from school today. 

“You’re such a punk,” he jokes as he stands up from his desk, and he can feel Steve staring at him.

“Whatever you say, jerk.”

And James laughs all the way to his car. 

_______

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m really not.”

“James, really? You’re named after James Buchanan, the least notable president of our country’s history?”

James pinches his nose and nods because he doesn’t know how Steve and he got so off-track. 

“Yes, I am. Now, we need to get back to this material because you’ve got a make-up test tomorrow afternoon, and Ms. Potts is nice but she can smell unprepared students a mile off,” James reminds his friend -- because that is what they are now -- gently. 

Steve looks flabbergasted and runs a hand through his hair, and James can see Steve’s newest tattoo peeking out under his shirt on his collarbone. 

“Alright, alright, whatever. We can get back to studying on one condition.”

James nods because as much as he likes bantering with Steve, they really need to get some work done. “What is that?”

Steve pauses, and James can practically see the cogs in his friend’s mind whirring. 

“Bucky. That’s your name from now on. It’s memorable, don’t you think?”

And James -- well, Bucky, now -- blinks because no one has ever given him a nickname before and it makes his heart leap in his chest. Looking through the glossary of his textbook to find out where some vocabulary terms are, James rolls the name around in his head before deciding he likes the sound of Bucky Barnes. 

“Bucky it is.”

Steve nods. 

“Bucky it is.”

_______

Bucky first started tutoring Steve in August. They became friends by September. And, by February, Bucky can’t remember the last time he has heard his name said by itself because it is _always_ Bucky and Steve together these days. 

He finds that he doesn’t care about it either. When he’s not busy doing homework or sitting in on student council meetings or ordering books in Afrikaans, Bucky is hanging out with Steve wherever they can meet up.

Steve also starts passing his Latin exams with flying colors -- and Bucky doesn’t know if it is because of his solid tutoring methods or because Steve is finally giving a shit about his grade in that class -- but it makes Bucky proud when Steve comes up and leans against the locker next to his one day and shoves a paper into his hand.

Skimming over the paper, Bucky smiles and tightens his grip on the letter. 

“You got accepted,” he breathes because he knows how excited Steve is about going to college and how worried he was that he might not get into his first choice, but dammit. 

Steve just handed Bucky his acceptance letter to NYU’s art program, and Bucky swings an arm around Steve’s shoulder because this is the best news he’s heard all week.

Which is impressive because his mom told him last night that she got a raise at the diner she works at on 5th Avenue and tells him that she’s going to let him have the car this weekend, which never happens, but still.

“...loved my portfolio, Bucky! Who would have thought, huh?” 

Bucky nods and hands the letter back to Steve, and even though Steve looks ecstatic with his wide eyes and toothy grin, Bucky can see the underlying tension cradled in his friend’s body because Steve -- well -- he never really wanted to go to college.

But his long list of health issues include asthma, scoliosis, diabetes, and the army just can’t accept that kind of liability on the field so Steve had to come to terms with not shipping out to Iraq after he gets his high school diploma.

Bucky is grateful for that, but he can never tell Steve. Not when Steve talks about how badly he’s always wanted to enlist and serve because that’s what his dad did -- and Bucky’s learned by now that Steve’s dad is a hero -- but Steve’s dad also died in the army. And while the medal of honor his father received posthumously makes Steve seven shades of proud, it also reminds Bucky that war is hell and he doesn’t want Steve anywhere near it. 

So Bucky instead managed to convince Steve to apply to NYU after having seen Steve sketching one day. His jaw had dropped because Steve was hunched over a sheet of paper with charcoal in hand, shading in the curve of Bucky’s shoulder as he drew a still-life of his friend. He had gone home that night and filled out the NYU application -- or, at least, all that he could -- for Steve and ignored Steve’s glassy stare when he explained to his friend how talented he was. That night, Steve submitted the application and texted Bucky a picture of the sent confirmation.

That night was also the first that Bucky dreamt of Steve -- something which Natasha, his neighbor, teased him about the next day in AP Calculus when he told her -- and now Bucky wondered what Steve would think if he told him about the dream as well.

But Steve is still talking to Bucky, even if Bucky has not been paying much attention to the words tumbling out of his friend’s mouth, and he figures that he should probably start. 

“...you applied too, right? I know you had a meeting there the other week with some professors. Foreign language, right? Because you speak every fucking tongue there is including _Klingon_ , you nerd. You think you’ll go? Because I don’t know if NYU can handle the both of us, Bucky. I really don’t.”

Bucky snorts because, of course, that is what Steve would be going on about. Shutting his locker, he adjusts the strap of his bookbag on his shoulders. 

“I applied and all, but I got to wait for financial to come through. You know I can’t afford that place otherwise,” Bucky answers, not feeling the usual prick of discomfort that pokes at his spine when he talks about his family’s money struggles, because he has talked to Steve about this before. 

It had been surprising -- and Bucky’s not sure why -- to find out that Steve’s family was loaded. Not enough to make any Manhattan socialites turn head but enough to make Bucky’s eyebrows raise on his first visit to Steve’s house. Before Steve’s father had joined the army, he had worked as an accountant and done well enough for himself that Steve’s mother didn’t have to work. But, once he was killed in action and the government had sent the family a lofty benefits check, Steve’s mother started working again at the VA hospital across town as a doctor. Steve was an only child, and so his mother never had to stretch her paycheck far.

Hell, even when Steve was cooped up at the hospital for weeks at a time, their bank account barely took a hit because their health insurance was damn-near bulletproof. 

Bucky’s family, well, they struggled their fair bit. His father had split soon after his little sister, Rebecca, was born -- which is fine with Bucky because his father was nothing but a no-good asshole with a hankering for whiskey -- and left his mother covering double-shifts at two different jobs to make ends meet. They live in a cramped apartment at the edge of town, but even when things get rough, they still got each other.

It’s a joke, now, because his mother has always said that Bucky’s brain is going to take him places that she had never even dreamed of since she dropped out of school at seventeen. But Bucky never laughs when she jokes like that because he knows it’s true. 

Bucky’s going to go nowhere in life without federal assistance and gracious scholarships. And that thought makes his stomach churn because he still doesn’t know if he’s going to get enough money to even go to college. 

Steve knows this now, but when Bucky first told Steve the story, Steve had been up in arms for hours. 

Steve, Bucky has also learned, is a social justice animal who fights tooth-and-nail to treat people equally and roots for the underdog like their all he has in life. Apparently, Bucky is enough of an underdog for Steve to rally behind -- which makes Bucky laugh because there really isn’t much Steve can do about his problem -- and it makes him feel a bit better.

It’s nice to know that someone’s got his back. 

So Steve doesn’t get upset about Bucky’s problem this time and simply smacks him on the shoulder with a playful grin.

“Don’t worry so much, Buck. It’ll work out; you’ll see.”

And, for the first time in a long time, Bucky believes things just might.

_______

Bucky has never invited many friends over to his place before. There is never enough space and definitely not enough privacy, but he finds himself hauling Steve into his bedroom one night at the start of March because Steve is an _idiot_ and got into the biggest fight and Bucky pretty sure that Steve’s nose is broken. 

Blood is dripped down Steve’s chin, and when he tries to smile at Bucky to show he’s alright, it’s a macabre sight because his teeth are dyed red and Bucky really has to fight down his gag reflex because _this is disgusting_. 

Sitting Steve on his bed, Bucky hurries to the bathroom down the hall and tugs out a dusty first-aid kit from the closet. He’s grateful, suddenly, that his mom is working a graveyard shift and that his sister is spending the night with some friends. 

Because Bucky’s also splattered with blood -- most of it not his own -- but some of it is his because his lip is split on the side and his knuckles are busted from having swung more than a few punches. 

It all started when Steve offered to pay for Bucky to see a movie at the cinema, which Bucky would have said no to any other time, but Steve insisted and Bucky really can never say no to someone -- especially when that someone is wearing skinny jeans and a loose shirt that gives Bucky a glimpse of the milky skin it’s covering. The movie was hilariously bad, and the two spent the whole time making fun of it before leaving the theater early, laughing and tripping over their own feet when a group of guys somehow cornered them in an alley. 

He doesn’t remember who swung first, but one of the brats spat in his face and called him a faggot, and then Bucky was on the ground with his hands raised to cover his face because _oh shit, what is happening right now?_

Bucky mostly dodged whatever came his way, hoping to grab Steve’s shirt and get away, but then he saw two of the guys standing over Steve and kicking sharply into his friend’s brittle chest and Bucky _moved_. 

The guys eventually hauled ass out of the alley, either scared that cops were going to come soon or that Bucky might actually rip one of their goddamn limbs off -- which he could because he does have a metal plate in his left arm and he likes to think it gives him super strength when he should ever need it -- and Bucky pulls Steve to his feet, fingers pressing across his ribs to see if anything is broken. 

Steve then spat some blood to the side, looking at Bucky under bruised eyes. 

“I had ‘em on the ropes, Buck,” he slurred, and Bucky wanted to cry.

“I know you did.”

That had been nearly half an hour ago because Bucky had trouble tugging Steve to his apartment -- which makes Bucky wonder if Steve also has a concussion because that would just the cherry on top of this whole disaster -- so when Bucky gets back to his room and sees that Steve’s eyes are shut, he panics. 

Tossing the first-aid on the bed, Bucky moves to shake Steve’s shoulder. “Wake up, Steve! Eyes on me.”

Steve groans and opens his good eye, and Bucky feels his chest loosen. 

“Shut up, Buck. I was just resting my eyes.” Bucky snorts before making Steve sit up so he can wash the blood off of his friend’s face. Steve is quiet throughout everything, not even wincing when Bucky sprays antiseptic spray on a cut framing Steve’s cheek, and Bucky doesn’t know whether he should be horrified or impressed because, clearly, Steve is used to this. 

“You are an idiot,” Bucky mutters once he finishes, looking down at his own hands and wincing at the sight of his raw knuckles. 

Steve shrugs. “It's not the first time I’ve heard that.”

And suddenly Bucky is angry -- really angry -- because Steve needs to think better about himself. He needs to think before he goddamn picks a fight with five guys in alley when he’s barely tall enough to reach Bucky’s shoulders, and Bucky clenches his fist to keep from saying something stupid.

He swallows thickly. “Why couldn’t you have just let it drop, Steve? It didn’t have to end like that.”

Steve jerks and looks at Bucky with wide eyes. “Is that what you think? You think they were going to let us out of that alley any other way?”

Unclenching his fist, Bucky drops his shoulders because he knows that Steve is right. He's still pissed as all hell that it even happened in the first place. 

He’s not mad that the fight happened. He’s not mad that those assholes roughed him up because they thought he was gay -- because he isn't but he’s not totally straight either -- or even that Steve’s sitting next to him all bloodied and bruised. 

He’s mad because he was having a good night with his best friend after an absolutely shit week and that it was ruined. 

“Your priorities are fucked, Bucky.”

His eyes widen because Bucky realizes that he did, in fact, say that all aloud. Steve is laughing at him, not even minding his busted face. Bucky feels his heart thump wildly in his chest. 

“My priorities are fine, Steve. So shut the hell up,” he breathes before looking at the clock on his wall. It is nearly midnight, and Steve doesn’t look like he’s going to be making it home tonight. 

“Do you need to call your mom and let her know you're staying over?”

Steve blinks.

“I’m staying over?”

Bucky does his best not to blush. 

“You are now.”

Steve winds up texting his mom about staying with a friend while Bucky tries to wrap his hand with tape -- and fails miserably because he actually doesn’t know what he’s doing -- but then Steve grabs gently at Bucky’s hand and finishes bandaging it. 

Really, Bucky does his best to not think about how smooth Steve’s hands are on his and how talented his fingers must be because of how well Steve can draw and okay, he needs to stop thinking like this unless he wants things to get really awkward really fast between him and Steve. 

So Bucky stands up and walks across his room to turn on his old TV and SEGA before throwing a controller at Steve. He lowers the volume to he doesn’t wake up his cat, Yasha, whose sleeping down the hall, and he turns around to see Steve staring at the lit TV. 

“ _Howling Commandos?_ Really? You’re such a fucking nerd,” Steve wheezes, and Bucky sits next to me, pointedly ignoring the flush that works its way up his neck when Steve continues. “Don’t tell me you play this for the storyline, Bucky. It’s a war game, but I know you better than you’d like to think. I can see the history buff in you screaming.”

Bucky laughs because Steve does know him really well, but not well enough. 

“I like the game because you get to kill some alien nazis, Steve, now press select. It’s time to blow up Hitler.”

And so Steve does. 

_______

“Why do I feel like I just got hit over the head with a brick, Bucky?”

Bucky smirks, looking at the book in his hand. 

“Well, it’s technically Tolstoy, so I am sorry. A brick might have hurt less,” he answers, and Steve swats at Bucky’s shoulder and misses. But Bucky doesn’t feel bad because Steve had fallen asleep during class -- snoring softly despite his tiny frame -- and doesn’t know how close he came to losing his freedom because Ms. Potts is notorious for handing out demerits, even more so than Mr. Fury down the hall. 

Steve makes to say something but shuts up once he realizes that class is still going on. Steve slouches in his chair with his arms crossed, and Bucky wishes that he had more time to admire the view, but Ms. Potts suddenly calls on him and he has to turn his attention towards the whiteboard. 

“James, would you mind explaining the difference between Romance- and Slavic-based languages?” 

Bucky smiles because he’s got this, and he starts to describe differences in vowel fronting and diphthongs and palatalization, before showing off a little further and speaking some Russian and Italian to show the difference to the class. Everyone in the room looks a little dazed, probably wondering where the hell that came from because Bucky is proud of his tongue but doesn’t show-off its talent often, except for Ms. Potts who continues the lesson once Bucky finishes. 

Feeling more than a little satisfied, Bucky stretches his legs out and looks back to Steve. 

Steve is staring at Bucky with sharp eyes that flicker up and down Bucky’s frame before lingering on his lips. Bucky freezes, unsure of what Steve is doing, but then Steve says something that sends shivers shooting up his spine. 

“God, that was _hot_.”

And Bucky doesn’t even mind when Ms. Potts hands him a demerit because the laughter that had burst from his lips at Steve’s confession surprised even him. 

_______

Bucky took the SAT his freshmen year of high school -- mainly to appease his mom and also to test his smarts -- and got a 2300. 

He jokes, saying that he had an off day, even though he nearly made a perfect score.

Sometimes, when he’s feeling insecure and stressing over his grades, he looks at that old score report and reminds himself that he’s smart -- enough to have gotten that score and enough to get into college and enough to get scholarship money.

So, when he gets a letter from NYU towards the middle of April, Bucky is sorry to say that he stares at the letter for a good ten minutes before gathering the courage to open the envelope and pluck out the letter inside. 

The paper shakes in his hand because he’s trembling, but his eyes can still read the words printed below, and the room spins because it’s not what he hoped for.

It’s so, _so_ much more. 

Being offered admission to NYU is one thing, but being offered a full-ride to his college of choice with one of the country’s best foreign language program is a whole other thing entirely. 

He wants to call Steve and tell him the news, but his mother is in the kitchen making dinner, so he grabs the letter and hurries into the kitchen. She’s hunched over the stove, stirring a pot of marinara sauce, and he shoves the letter under her nose. 

“James, can’t you see-”

“Mom, just...look.”

His mom stops stirring, obviously hearing the tremor in her son’s voice, and reads the letter carefully. As her eyes skim over the printed ink, tears gather at the corner of her eyes and then she’s hugging Bucky so tightly that he can’t breathe. 

“Oh, _Bucky!_ I’m so proud of you,” she breathes into his neck, and he curls his fingers around the back of her shirt to ground himself, and he can hear Rebecca in the background asking what happened, and his heart it so light that he feels like he could fly. 

And, when he does call Steve later to tell him the good news, the reaction he gets from his best friend is enough to make him wipe a tear from his eye. 

_______

Steve is hospitalized the week before finals -- and Bucky tries visits him in the ICU, even when’s turned away, until Steve’s moved into a private room -- and Bucky feels his heart clench when he’s finally able to see his friend. 

He’s laying in bed, paler than ever before and with a cannula stuck in his nose, but he’s smiling brightly at Bucky like nothing is wrong. And nothing is wrong, Bucky reminds himself. Steve just had an asthma attack -- a bad one -- and couldn’t get to his inhaler in time before passing out in the middle of PE. 

So nothing is wrong, but everything kind of is at the same time. 

Because, as he sits next to Steve’s bed -- careful not to tug on Steve’s IV -- and playing card games, Bucky knows in the pit of his stomach that he loves Steve. 

He _loves_ Steve. 

And it scares the _shit_ out of him. 

He’s dated before in the past, sure. He might not be outgoing or particularly popular, but he’s had a fair share of girlfriends in the past. And when he brought home his first boyfriend, he was sixteen, and his mother never said a word about it to him. 

But he’s never loved anyone who wasn’t his mother or sister or cat -- which really says everything there is to know about his love-life -- and he doesn’t know what he should do. 

He leaves the hospital earlier than planned, lying and telling Steve that he’s got to watch Rebecca tonight, leaves Steve some homework, and all but runs out of the room. The walk back to his apartment is a long one that finds Bucky kicking his feet against the sidewalk and running his hands through his hair until it sticks up. 

That night, he tosses in bed, unable to sleep because his chest is on fire and his head hurts. But he does eventually fall into a fitful sleep, clutching at his blankets and thinning his lips. 

And he dreams about Steve again. 

_______

Bucky barely sees Steve until the night before their graduation. 

Between Steve being hospitalized -- long enough that he eventually has to get permission to make-up his classwork on the weekends -- and Bucky preparing for final exams and his graduation speech because being smart is _great_ until you’ve got to make a valedictorian speech, the two only run into each other in the halls at school or while waiting in line for lunch. 

But then finals are over -- and, _god_ , they are finally finished with that hellhole of a high school -- and Bucky still doesn’t see Steve because neither of them can seem to get their act together. 

The only reason Bucky even runs into Steve the night before graduation is because Natasha is afraid he’s going to stroke out from practicing his speech, so she takes him to get food at the diner his mom waitresses at. She invites Clint, her longtime boyfriend who works at a bird sanctuary downtown, and they order milkshakes and split some chili cheese fries. 

He’s finishing a fry when Natasha sits up straight, nodding her head at something behind Bucky.

“Don’t look now, but Steve just walked in and is totally making goo-goo eyes at you.”

Bucky snorts and stops once he realizes what she’s just said. He turns and sees that Steve is now sitting in a booth near the front door with another guy -- whose name Bucky believes is Phil but he can’t be sure -- and feels his heart drop.

Steve is laughing and talking and most definitely not giving Bucky any sort of goo-goo eyes. And Bucky really wishes that he hadn’t left his room because seeing this is just making him feel even shittier than he did before. 

Turning his head back to Natasha, he ducks his head and shrugs. “He’s with someone.”

Natasha frowns. “And you’re stupid.”

He doesn’t respond because he knows talking this out right now with Natasha will only piss him off, so they finish their meal quietly -- even Clint who normally talks fast and apologizes later -- until he puts some money on the table and stands. 

Bucky doesn’t look to see if Steve is looking at him or even knows he’s there, but Natasha stops him before he can leave with a hand on his wrist. 

“James, just talk to him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but it can be fixed.”

And Bucky shakes his head because that’s the problem: Nothing happened between him and Steve. They just started falling away from one another, one day at a time, and now there are weeks between them that Bucky can’t seem to hurdle over. 

So he does what he is best at and runs away -- literally.

He is about a block from the diner, all wrapped up in his head, until he finally realizes that someone is yelling at him. 

“Bucky! _Bucky, stop!_ ”

He does, turning on his heel to find Steve a few feet behind him, wheezing like he’s been running after Bucky this whole time -- and suddenly -- Bucky feels awfully foolish. Steve keeps coming at him until there standing right beside one another, and he stares at Bucky for a long moment that makes Bucky’s skin crawl. 

Bucky shifts on his feet because he’s never done well with silences like this. “Sorry about that.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Bucky is about to make another excuse for why he’s got to get home immediately, but Steve cuts him off before he can even start. 

“You busy? You want to come over to my place?”

And Bucky gets Steve a look. “Aren’t you on a date or something?”

Steve laughs, and it makes Bucky’s heart expand because its a sound he’s not heard in a long time, before shaking his head.

“With Phil? No, he’s just helping me with my senior art project since he’s a big fan or something along those lines. And besides,” he says, looking up at Bucky with a small smile, “there’s someone else I’ve had my eye on.”

Bucky refuses to think further into what Steve said and winds up follow Steve to his house which is not even a fifteen minute walk from the diner. They walk quietly, listening to cars as they drive past, until they are heading up the stairs to Steve’s room.

While he’s been here before, taking his normal seat on the edge of Steve’s bed feel different this time because there is something still misfiring between the two of them that sets Bucky’s teeth on edge. Steve still hasn’t said anything and is rifling through his desk -- the one covered in art supplies and canvases and bottles of turpentine -- before he’s walking towards Bucky with a stack of papers in hand. 

Then Steve is shoving them at Bucky and speaking so quickly that he could even give Clint a run for him money, and Bucky really has to focus to hear what Steve is saying.

“...so sorry I’ve been busy, but this project kind of ate my life. It really did, Bucky, I swear. And you know, you could have texted me too. We could have been stressing out together. Don’t think I don’t know how your speech tomorrow is eating at you.”

Bucky nods before looking down at the papers in his hand and stills, feeling his chest unfurl as he drinks in the sketches. 

He’s looking at a picture of himself but not quite. He’s bigger, sturdier, and dressed in a navy coat with a rifle slung across his back. There are other guys standing around them, huddled against the cold wind because Steve’s drawn an arctic background that has snow spitting from grey clouds above. 

But it’s not seeing himself that throws Bucky for a loop. 

It’s seeing Steve staring back at him, with a bigger and stronger body that matches the fierceness of his friend’s spirit, that captivates him. Because Steve is dressed in a uniform like he’s always dreamed of and it’s sleek and colorful and has a giant white star pleated into the center of its chest. He’s carrying a shield, which is so fucking _appropriate_ that Bucky smiles, and has his arm swung around Bucky’s shoulder in the picture in a way that pushes the air from his lungs. 

“Steve, this is-”

“Do you like it? It’s just an idea I’ve been working on, and you know, you gave me the idea that night after playing that game of yours. It’s a series I am doing for class, and I really think I might continue it at NYU if my professors like it...”

“Hold up, Steve, just-”

“That one? It’s titled “ _Captain America_.” People tell me that they used to call my dad that, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I don’t think he’d mind me using that name for this...”

Bucky flicks through the rest of the pictures, eyes taking in sketch after sketch. There is a man with a red face and a woman with red lips and then Bucky reaches the last photo and wants to cry.

Because it is a picture of Steve, out of the spangled uniform, standing in a bombed-out bar with a glass of scotch pressed to his lips. He looks old, something in his eyes shining wearily, and there are a pair of dog-tags wrapped around his free hand. 

They read: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 32557.

Steve notices how he is looking at the picture and quiets before finally taking a seat next to Bucky. 

He clears his throat. “I drew that one the other night. I think I was missing you or something,” Steve says lightly, but Bucky can hear the hardness in his tone and knows how serious Steve really is. 

And then Bucky feels like a prize idiot because _what has he been doing?_ Really, he is smarter than this. 

Placing the pictures on the bed behind him, he ignores Steve’s puzzled look before turning towards his friend and bringing a hand to his cheek. He leans closer and closer until he’s just an inch away, and he’s not breaking eye contact with Steve for nothing. Steve hasn’t moved -- and Bucky’s not totally sure if he’s still breathing anymore -- so he breathes deep enough for the both of them. 

“Tell me to stop,” Bucky murmurs. 

Steve says nothing. 

So Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s chapped ones and feels a thrill shoot through his skin because this is ridiculous. 

This really can’t be happening. 

But then Steve moves, nipping at Bucky’s bottom lip -- and when he gasps -- Steve takes his chance and pushes his tongue against Bucky’s and _wow, this really can’t be happening_. 

But it is, and that’s how they spend their night before graduation, wrapped up in each other as they touch and caress and grip one another until they fall asleep.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, right before nodding off with Steve pressed against his side, he makes a note. Because he’s got to thank Natasha for making him come out tonight. 

_______

Steve takes out his lip ring before accepting his diploma because his mother wants a nice picture of her son without that thing on his face. 

He puts it back in as soon as he sits down, and after the ceremony is over and Bucky manages to give his speech without passing out, Steve kisses him firmly and Bucky finds that kissing people with lip rings is his new favorite thing to do. 

But they have to pull away almost as soon as they start because people are wanting pictures and Bucky’s mom is crying and Ms. Potts is giving him a soft look that makes him realize that he will miss her in the fall once he’s settled in at NYU. 

Their days are respectively planned for them, so Bucky softly tells Steve to meet him at the high school later tonight because he has a surprise for Steve. 

It’s late when Steve arrives at the school, and Bucky’s waiting at the front door of the school with a tired smile that lights up once Steve presses a kiss to his lips. Steve looks about as tired as Bucky feels, but he’s not letting this surprise go to waste. Pulling at his back pocket, he tugs out a blindfold and shows it to Steve who doesn’t even look surprised. 

He smirks. “Do I even _want_ to know what you plan on doing with this,” Steve asks and Bucky snorts. 

“Shut up and put it on.”

So Steve ties the black cloth around his eyes and doesn’t make a sound as Bucky takes his hand and starts leading him through the school. Ms. Potts, the generous teacher she is, promised to leave the front door unlocked to the school for exactly one hour tonight -- and really, he’s glad that he was her favorite student because being the teacher’s pet is so paying off right now.

Bucky guides them through the hallways, careful to keep Steve from running into any walls, even if it would be hilarious. But that would spoil the mood that Bucky’s been working hard to create so he keeps Steve upright until he reaches the door he’s been heading for. 

He stops, pressing a hand to Steve’s chest to keep his boyfriend from tumbling over, and smiles. 

“You ready for the surprise?”

Despite the blindfold, Bucky can practically see Steve rolling his eyes. “Whenever you are.”

So Bucky opens the door to Ms. Potts classroom and tugs off Steve’s blindfold, waiting to see Steve’s face light up once he realizes what’s happening. 

Steve looks around the room once...twice...three times before leaning against the doorway, laughing so loudly that Bucky’s worried it might trigger an attack, but then Steve is kissing him so hard that he forgets all about Steve’s dysfunctional lungs. 

Bucky pulls away, looking over the dinner he made and set-up for their date tonight in the classroom where they first met -- because Bucky is nothing if sentimental -- and trails a hand down Steve’s arm until their fingers are intertwined. 

He squeezes lightly, tugging Steve into the room before nudging the door closed with his foot. And Steve leans against Bucky’s side like he’s been there his whole life. 

“You still with me, punk,” Bucky asks as the door clicks shut behind them, and his fingers card through Steve’s hair. 

Steve nods against his shoulder.

“‘Til the end of the line.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, settings, plot lines, concepts, or terminology as created, used, and owned by Marvel Entertainment, LLC ®. This is a work of fanfiction.


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